


To Avoid Attachment

by TrippinOverMyFandoms



Series: Swords And Arrows [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Oliver is stubborn, Sladiver Week, Sladiver week 2019, Smut, felicity knows things, plus i cant write smut, set in season 2, skipped the foreplay, slade is back, sorta - Freeform, this was already so damn long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrippinOverMyFandoms/pseuds/TrippinOverMyFandoms
Summary: "Cut the bull Slade. You and I both know you didn't come here just to look at me.""Maybe I did." He growls, tilting Oliver's neck backwards just slightly, to remind the other just who exactly was in control over the situation.





	To Avoid Attachment

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut so oof   
another big thanks to swingrlm for being my beta!

1:24am.

The red digits of the small clock on the desk seemed to mock him. Its glow faint compared to the computer monitor, yet it still sat there, judging him. Okay maybe he needed sleep. To be fair, he hadn't gotten more than a few hours sleep and hadn't gone to bed before 2am in weeks since he returned to Starling City. But he could feel it in his bones. The clock telling him it was late and he should head home, actually try to get some rest. Or maybe that was just his subconscious trying to be helpful for once.

Was he going to listen? Of course not.

If Oliver Queen was anything, he was definitely stubborn. 

But that's beside the point. It wasn't just that he didn't make himself sleep it's that he couldn't. He had always thought too much, especially before bed. Now with vigilante things, CEO stuff, deaths of loved ones, and so so much more dwelling in this thoughts, it made it nearly impossible to fall asleep without emotionally wearing himself out first. So instead he chose to stay up until his body just couldn't take it anymore and he had to sleep.

Most of the time that came in the form of rushing things along by pushing himself in athletic feats while patrolling Starling City's streets. Being a vigilante would tire anyone out and normally it did its job for him. 

Though tonight he was mad. 

Usually he used his vigilante life to distract from things that were going wrong in his personal life. Unfortunately, things were going wrong in both and instead of choosing the lesser of two evils he found a third way to distract himself.

Busy work at Queen Consolidated. 

He had definitely neglected it for far too long, any longer and the board would have his head. He was so tired of Isobel Rochev nagging him about things that needed to be done. If only they knew everything that went down on a day to day basis.

All of that aside- Oliver had never technically left work at all. Ever since he came in that morning and actually did work stuff all day. He felt all of Felicity's concerned looks when she realized he actually wasn't focusing on Arrow stuff. He was glad she hadn't pushed him about it. He liked her and he didn't want to mess that up by accidentally blowing up on her. 

Eventually he had to tell her to go home. She had stayed far past 11pm at her secretary desk outside his office. He saw her yawn once or twice, and by 12:20am he sighed and walked out to her to tell her to go. She seemed hesitant, so just to make sure she actually took care of herself instead of waiting around for him to decide to suit up, which wouldn't come that evening, he walked her to the front door. 

That was an hour ago and it almost seemed like another reality entirely. That was a sign that he was getting tired and he needed to wrap up what he was doing. It's not like he was nodding off or anything but he had yawned a few times already so the busy work had done its job.

Oliver typed and clicked and lost himself in reports, going almost completely numb. He almost missed the slight swish of the glass door to his office opening and closing. He blinked against the computer's light which now seemed quite bright compared to the dim lighting of the office despite the two lamps that he had placed around in it. But it was better than the too bright fluorescent ones in the ceiling that would have kept him too awake. 

Only miss clicking once and not even bothering to cast a lazy glance over his computer, he says, "Felicity? I told you to go home. No vigilante stuff tonight, just take a break." Somehow he manages to not mumble despite how his brain is slowly beginning to shut off and he knew he'd have to stand up soon or he was going to fall asleep in the chair. 

He's almost startled when he realized that he hadn't heard the usual click of her heels approaching. But that was easily excusable, she might have not worn heels. Actually he couldn't exactly recall what she had worn that day. A dress? One of her pencil skirts? Maybe pants? What time was it?

He glances at the clock on the computer, why the hell did he have so many clocks anyway, and was surprised to find it read 2:46am. Time had flown.

"Sorry, should I have made an appointment first?" Says a voice that's so surprisingly close it makes Oliver feel like his soul has just jumped out of his body entirely. That and the sound of it is so horribly familiar, yet weirdly distant like a memory on the edge of being forgotten.

He peers over his monitor and the face the voice belongs to is anything but a distant memory. If anything, as of late, it's been creeping around his mind for some time. 

Oliver stands, despite the sudden weakness in his legs. He's not totally sure if it's from shock or how he hasn't really moved in the past few hours. He rises slowly and keeps his fingertips on the desk, keeping himself tethered just in case hell opened up and swallowed him whole. Because what else could this be other than a sick dream or a horrible damnation?

Now fully awake, or at least he thinks he is, he begins to analyze the man before him. He looks tall but Oliver knows the other man is in fact shorter than him. He makes up for it in muscle mass and the dark brown eyes that seemed to look through him like glass. Or, eye anyway. A distant memory he had tried his hardest to bury, stabs at his heart and he wonders if the other man has noticed, not that his expression wasn't already full of shock and disbelief. 

Oliver curses the war inside himself. Guilt, hate, fear, longing. All engaged in a battle to the death inside his very being. There's this odd need to speak the other's name but his jaw tightens like it would be taboo to do so. Like saying 'Rumpelstiltskin' or 'Beetlejuice'. Though with the way those two tales went it wouldn't matter, the man was already standing there before him.

He means to exhale but a quiet "Slade," leaves his tongue along with a breath of air and immediately he draws it back in sharply, fumbling and having to grip onto the desk for support. 

A low and short rumble emanates from the other, a slightly amused chuckle maybe? Oliver certainly didn't feel like the big bad vigilante killer he had once been, instead he felt like a scared kid caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost." The line would be cheesy coming from anyone else. But from Slade? It felt horribly menacing. The way he stalked around the desk only added to it. Oliver watches his every move with his eyes. From the subtle rising and falling of his chest to the small and slow strides as he desperately dug deep in himself to find some air of courage. Slade had a weird way of making him feel small and Oliver was never sure exactly what that was. Maybe it was their age gap, maybe it was that he was a former mentor, or maybe that was just Slade. Once upon a time Oliver would have taken comfort in not having to be the one to take charge and at times in the past he had craved it since losing what he had on the island. But now? Now he just wanted Slade to go away before anything happened.

Instead he remains stationary as Slade stalks around the desk and moves his rolling desk chair away from him, sitting in it like the building is his. Oliver spins around and tries to relax, attempting to at least half perch on the edge of the desk, but his white knuckle grip on the wood betrays him. 

"What do you want." Oliver grinds out, instead of a question he states it like a demand, thinking that would help him regain his sense of authority. 

Slade is quick to respond, like he's thought of this moment over and over in the past. Who's to say he hasn't? "I wanted to see you for myself. Up close. You've changed quite a bit." It's almost like he's speaking to a pet and if anything that just enrages Oliver. He was in his office after all. Technically Slade was even trespassing.

"So you've been following me? Weird, I wouldn't have pegged you as the stalker type." Oliver grinds out in a sarcastic tone followed up by a scoff, even though when he swallows the saliva gathering in his mouth it feels like swallowing down a rock. Back then Slade hadn't looked like a stalker, a skilled killer who was always ten steps ahead sure, but not a stalker. Now he did, however. Dressed sharply, clean, looking at Oliver as if this wasn't the first time he had seen him in five years. Clearly it wasn't judging by what he had said. The words 'up close' echoing in his mind.

It sort of made sense. He thought it was vertigo or something but maybe those times he felt he was being followed by a ghost weren't just feelings after all.

Slade rolls his eyes, eye, at Oliver, like a teacher irritated with a student. Oliver was used to that look at least and the familiarity of it sends small tingles down his back. That wasn't fair. 

"'Stalker' seems like an overkill term don't you think?" Slade is too casual and it makes Oliver just mad enough to make him snap. 

"I'm only gonna say this one more time, what do you want?" This time it's a proper question, but he puts all his anger behind it, sounding now very much like the man he had become, not like the inexperienced kid he had been back then, "and cut the bull Slade. You and I both know you didn't come here just to look at me." He pushed himself off from the desk to stand up straight and try to tower over Slade, forcing the desk back a few inches when he does.

In one swift movement that sends the desk chair rolling backwards, Slade is on his feet in front of Oliver. He forces the blonde back, bracing one hand on the desk and the other to grip rather harshly at the base of Oliver's neck, slamming a sharp and quick kiss to Oliver's lips. 

"Maybe I did." He growls, tilting Oliver's neck backwards just slightly, to remind the other just who exactly was in control over the situation.

Oliver groans, he wasn't expecting this at all. He thought Slade was here to kill him, maybe rough him up a bit at least. Worst of all, he shouldn't be turned on by this. 

His breath hitches when he feels teeth lightly scrape against his neck. Oliver shudders against the desk, goosebumps running from his neck to the top of his head, to his fingertips, and down to his toes. 

"By all means then-" he rasps out, not realizing how breathless he was till now. Fuck it had been so long since he was this close to Slade. He was quite a bit different and Oliver wasn't sure if that was for good or not. 

He didn't have much time to dwell however, especially since Slade seemed to be moving quick and was already dragging a hand down his torso, dangerously close to his belt. Oliver returned his white knuckle grip to his desk. 

Slade began leaving a mark on Oliver's neck that the blonde knows is going to be hard to hide. He growls in annoyance, earning him a tighter grip on his hair which only seems to turn him on more. This shouldn't be making him hard but it is. His pants are getting tight and with their closeness as well as Slade's hand so close to his dick, it was hard not to be. That and their fuck buddy history on the island deciding to surface in Oliver's memory. The sudden flashbacks were dirty and utterly sinful. Back then they were full of love but this now was just lust. 

Slade leaves Oliver's neck and returns the attention to the other's lips. In return, Oliver thrusts his hips forward to meet Slade's and when he does he's surprised. He feels something that is most definitely not an erection. There was one, Oliver had no doubt, that just wasn't it.

Without asking, Oliver reaches his hand into Slade's pocket and feels the small bottle. Oliver doesn't have to see it to know it's definitely lube. He twists his head away from Slade and is almost taken aback when Slade releases his hair, wondering if he's about to flee. 

"You came here with the intention of a fuck." Oliver tries to sound outraged but it doesn't work too well, his voice is far too husky for that and it's clear none of his lust has dissipated. 

"You got a problem with that kid?" Slade sounds threatening and the voice almost doesn't sound like his own, clouded with the hostility of the mirakuru, but the words most definitely are. Checking in on him even if it sounded like he was trying to be scary. 

"Not as long as you stop stalling and get to it." Oliver half grins and Slade rolls his eye. Some things never change and that little piece of him hadn't gone anywhere, it had just remained dormant until Slade came back around. He curses the fact that Slade could do that to him. It was certainly a weakness.

Oliver then realizes he doesn't feel a condom package in that pocket either unless it's in another one. Even if there isn't though, he's not exactly worried about STDs. He didn't have anything and if the mirakuru was supposed to heal then he was sure Slade didn't have anything either. That, and on the island it wasn't like they could check for that anyway. 

Needless to say Oliver didn't really give a fuck. 

Slade responds by moving the hand keeping him steady against the desk to place it on Oliver's back and going to kiss him again. Oliver opens his mouth a little and Slade seems to get the message, responding by slipping his tongue into the blonde's waiting mouth. Oliver steadies himself on his feet so he can use his hands for other things. First he uses them to pull off Slade's suit coat, leaving him in the pale blue button up that was underneath. It looked darker though, with their chests now pressed against each other and Oliver's stark white button up to contrast with it. His hands then find their way to Slade's biceps, where they linger. Women were one thing and Slade was another. That didn't stop Oliver from going absolutely crazy over either of course. Slade's biceps were just so impressive. Well defined even under the shirt he wore.

Suddenly Slade grips his ass and Oliver groans, he's surprised but it feels good to be pretty much manhandled. The women he slept with were usually submissive and didn't really 'put him in his place' as Sara had described it when he explained it to her. She had happily complied to dominate him and joked about him being a switch and having a kink for being dominated on occasion. After he figured out what all that meant he realized how she right she was. Oh if only she could see him now. It'd be exactly like that one time on the island- the first time he and Slade had fucked after the mirakuru and the last time between them until now. She had the misfortune of finding them with Slade pinning Oliver to a tree in the dark of the night. Slade couldn't see her but Oliver could. She had nodded and given him a thumbs up before turning around and walking away. They never spoke of it. 

(-)

It's odd, the hand rubbing small circles at the small of his back, seeing if he was okay and ready. Something the old Slade used to do. With the mirakuru and the events leading to this moment, Oliver didn't think that there was much of the old Slade left in the dark haired Australian. Maybe he was wrong. 

It had all been a rush, yet it seemed to have happened in slow motion. Slade working his ass open with his fingers as Oliver gripped onto his shirt with strength he didn't even know he had as he came undone under Slade's touch. 

That's all the prep there had been, they even still had most of their clothes on, their coats having been discarded and a few buttons undone. Oliver was only slightly disappointed he wouldn't get a chance to suck Slade off but with the lube there wasn't a need for that. 

In response, Oliver buries his face in the nape of Slade's neck and nods, he wanted this. It was no longer a nightmare and more of a wet dream long overdue. 

Barely a second later Slade pushes in, slowly but unyielding. Oliver's head snaps back and the moan that escapes him is utterly sinful, a bit of pain shooting through his lower back and abdomen, but a good pain, one he's missed if he's being honest. 

When Slade pulls out and pushes back in, Oliver wonders if his grip on the other is too much until he remembers how the mirakuru worked. 

He loses himself in the slow pace the dark haired man has set, knowing that anyone else would grow bored, but Oliver had relaxed and found himself moving downward to meet Slade's thrusts. His gaze is up towards the ceiling but he's not really seeing, overtaken by porn worthy bliss. 

He's only woken from his dreamscape when it feels like he's falling and when he moves a hand away from his clutch around Slade to brace himself he realizes that Slade has carried him from the edge of the desk to lay him down against one of the couches in the office.

He also notices that Slade has picked up his pace, setting a new rhythm. Gone from slow, long and sweet to fast, short and hot. 

The only thing that seemed to break the bliss of being fucked by Slade was how little noise he made. The possibility that he himself had drowned out any sound the other made definitely couldn't be counted out, or maybe he had just lost any other sense than feeling what was happening to his ass was another, but one thing Oliver sure remembered from his time on Lian Yu was that Slade made a decent amount of noise. He had actually found it cute back then. Big tough Slade, who kept his hand clamped over Oliver's mouth when they had sex, grunting and moaning. It was never very loud but still there for Oliver hear over the skin against skin sounds. Oliver always thought it made sense as to why he himself was never loud with a woman, but quite loud when Slade topped him was because anal was so much different on the receiving end for someone who had always been the penetrator all his life. He had no real explanation as to why Slade didn’t make much noise either.

But maybe it was just done away with when the mirakuru took over. 

But Oliver doesn't dwell too long, instead he goes back to meeting Slade's hips with a force of his own and trying to match the other's pace. Even though he was now a vigilante, the Australian still had the upper hand when it came to stamina. 

Oliver has built up an ego of his own, still holding onto that hope for dominance that he tried earlier in their meeting, and he slams his lips against the other's. Slade responds by biting down on Oliver's bottom lip and the taste of copper and the slight pain in a new area has told him that the action has drawn blood. The blonde groans in protest, knowing that he's sure to have a swollen lip the next day. Slade releases him and Oliver is left wondering if maybe the Australian has forgotten his own strength. The thought that maybe Slade could have taken off his lip almost kills his erection.

Oh yeah, there's that he almost forgot about.

He had been reveling in the attention to his ass that he almost forgot about his swollen dick flopping uselessly with the force of the thrusts. If Slade would just lean down a little further he'd have some friction.

As if reading his mind, Slade takes hold of it and moves his hand only a little, what a tease. "Not enough for you kid?" He says, and Oliver isn't sure how the other man is able to manage the smirk on his face when he himself can't get anything that doesn't portray him as a sex crazed whore. It's unfair really. 

Slade gives the blonde's cock a few more light strokes but it's enough to knock the wind out of Oliver. The combined pleasures causing him to shut his eyes and tilt his head back impossibly far, wrapping his legs tighter around the other man. 

"Why are you.... so fucking.... mean!" He manages between pants, and it doesn't help that Slade roughly moves his hips forward sharply and manages to hit that perfect spot in him. Oliver cries out and a hand covers his mouth, causing the wound on his lip to sting. His eyes shoot open and his gaze locks with Slade's. Just add trees and the stupidly loud insect noises and it would be just like Lian Yu. 

Oliver still has enough grasp on his sanity to contemplate biting Slade's hand until Slade thrusts the way he did again and Oliver's next moan is muffled. 

He's not even sure why Slade is doing it in the first place, no one is at the office and it's not like he seemed to care before. Maybe it was an irony thing. Like for old time’s sake? Trying to make things how they were on the island? Slade did always have a sick sense of humor. But maybe Slade heard or saw something Oliver didn't. He was facing away from the office door and the way Slade was angled he would have the perfect view out the glass.

Oliver doesn't care too much about being seen though because he's so damn close to that edge. He thrusts his own hips upward hard and Slade seems to get the memo. It's weird now though, before Slade shifts so that his thrusts hit that spot inside Oliver over and over again, it seemed like Oliver had just called the shot. But he doesn't care. He's so close he can feel it. Between Slade fucking him and jerking him off, he's almost there.

Almost.  
Almost.  
Almost.  
There.

His climax hits him with full force and he realizes just how long it's been since he's been fucked. It takes over him in waves of pleasure that make his vision go blurry and his lungs heave trying to get air in as he comes down. 

Slade has slowed too and Oliver is pretty sure he's found his own release.

And then everything goes black.

(-)

When Oliver wakes up, the sun is beginning to rise. He sits up on the couch and realizes he's never seen a sunrise from his office before. For a moment he lets himself wonder if his dad had ever had the same view as he stares out the glass and watches as the sky goes from dark blue to pink. 

He can almost see him, standing at the window and looking down at the city below, watching as it wakes up. There's no point in going home because he's already at work. The kids would be leaving for school soon and Moira would come after dropping them off to check on him.

It's the closest he's felt to his dad in a long time. The image he has in his head is so clear because he remembers waking up one morning as a kid to see his father looking out the tall glass windows in their living room as the sun came up. He doesn't even remember why he had been awake so early, but he can clearly recall his father turning around and smiling at him. He had picked him up and shown him how their backyard looked in the early sun. Oliver can almost see the imagined version of his father standing next to him now.

He wasn't an early riser by any means but after that moment, he had a new appreciation for mornings. The memory made early hikes with Slade on the island more bearable.

Slade!

That's right! Everything came rushing back to Oliver so quickly that he had to place his fingertips on his temples just to steady himself. He hurt all over and wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before.

It felt like a dream. Maybe it was. He'd seriously considered that option if his ass didn't hurt so much. Maybe that was from sitting at his desk so long. 

Oliver looks around the office. There was no way. There was no possible way any of it could have happened. Nothing looked out of place. It was the same old space he had gotten bored of staring at in the past years. It hasn't changed. Besides all that, Slade was dead. He had killed him himself years ago. It wasn't possible. 

In frustration, he sucks in his bottom lip only to recoil as a sudden jolt of pain coursed through him, originating from his lip. He instinctively raises a hand and gently taps it. A quick memory flashes in his mind's eye. 

In the dream, Slade had bit his lip. Maybe it wasn't a dream after all. Or maybe he just did it himself. He did have an awful habit of chewing on it when he was stressed out.

It had to be a dream. Slade was dead. Dead. 

It haunts him, how unsure he is on the topic. He forces himself to push it aside and makes himself settle on it being just a dream. 

He heads out of the office, after having gathered his coat which had been slung over the back of the couch. As soon as he's exited the doors he realizes Felicity is there, sitting at the secretary desk. 

"I didn't want to wake you. I just knew you hadn't gone home yet. Apparently I was right." She eyes him up and down, now doubt taking in his worse-for-wear state and making sure he was okay. She was really good at being concerned for him.

A small grin appears on her face and she casts her gaze down to her keyboard, seemingly avoiding eye contact with him. "At least you weren't working all night." She mutters.

He's not sure what she's on about other than the fact that he had fallen asleep but he decides to ask, "What?" anyways. His answer is given in the form of her tapping a pen against her neck and that's all Oliver needs.

The mark. The one from last night.

Fuck.

It hadn't been a dream. Slade was alive, he was in Starling City, and worst of all he had just had sex with someone who was no doubt there to kill him.


End file.
